


The Power of Guilt

by ScaryScarecrows



Series: Gaslights [2]
Category: Gotham By Gaslight
Genre: Dick despairs, Gen, Penguin is a sucker for baby birds, Tiny Tim is a menace, and Jason is a pain in the ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-19 13:52:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13705797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryScarecrows/pseuds/ScaryScarecrows
Summary: “So we’re gonna call ‘im Tiny Tim.” Jason informs her around a cracker. “Get ‘im a crutch, maybe. Then if shit goes south again he’s at least got somethin’ to hit back with.”





	The Power of Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> Well, shit. It became a Thing. Bucky take the wheel.
> 
> This is probably about four months before the Ripper makes his debut in Gotham. I’m going with the idea that the Cock Robins do work for Big Bill, but Big Bill works for Penguin, and Penguin will have you gutted, literally, and probably in an actual slaughterhouse, if he thinks you’re getting too big for your britches. So he’s got to share them whether he likes it or not.
> 
> For added hilarity, mentally insert Sad Violin Music of Choice whenever Tim does anything. Any French seen is from Google translate and my hazy memories of grade school, so do forgive any mistakes. (And tell me so I can fix ‘em.)

“Oi, beautiful!”

Dove sighs and holds up a finger to the fishmonger.

“ _Une seconde…_ hello, boys.”

God, it’s been two weeks and she’ll swear they’ve shot up like weeds. Dick jabs his brother in the ribs and hisses, “Manners.”

“ _You_ have ta mind your manners, _I_ don’t. We got somethin’. Right?”

“Wrong.” she says, and Jason gives her a look of utter betrayal while Dick guffaws. “But you don’t have to mind your manners, kid. Whatcha want-ah, _la truite s'il vous plait._ ”

“We got some words that the big bird might wanna hear.” Dick says. “And we got a new one.”

“Oh, boy, an organization- _merci._ ”

“You’ll like this one.” Jason reaches behind them and yanks a tiny little thing, maybe nine, out and to the front. “This ‘ere’s Tim. We found him in the canal.”

‘Tim’ stares at her like he wants her to save him from the savages who have forcibly adopted him. She will do no such thing.

“Really?”

He nods, lip sucked in between his teeth and eyes big and watery.

“I fell in tryin’ ta get outta th’ way of a dog cart.”*

Maybe she’ll save him from the savages.

“Come on, you three. Step lively.”

There’s a bit of fighting over who gets the window and who gets wedged in the middle, and she eventually drags the closest ear-Dick, it turns out-over to sit with her.

“You’re lucky Mister Cobblepot’s in town today. He’s leaving for the weekend to see his mother-you all right, Tim?”

“’ve never been in a cab before.”

And.

And _something_ about that sounds off, or maybe it’s that lower lip, out a tad too far-

“You taught him your ways.” she accuses Dick, who has the sheer audacity to look at her like he’s never done anything wrong in his entire _life._

“Maybe just a little? I’m the good influence! Jay tried to teach him pickpocketing and he got knocked around by an old lady with a parasol-”

“That was great- _ow_ , you little brat-”

“-so this was safer, really, I mean, look at him-”

She has a headache already.

* * *

Oswald Cobblepot, known in select circles as the Penguin, is a formidable man for one who barely comes up to her shoulder. He commands respect, and dignity, and-

“So we gotcher info, big bird.”

And probably a very stiff drink as soon as the boys are gone.

“ _Thank you_ , young sirs.” He taps a finger against his desk. “I suppose you want your usual fee?”

“Add ten percent.” Cobblepot raises one eyebrow. Dove’s not going to lie, she’d severely maim a man to figure out how he does that. “We got another one.”

“Fantastic…come here, boy. Let me see you.”

Tim rather resembles, Dove thinks, a baby bird. Not a freshly-hatched, ugly little goblin, but a fluffy, cute one that can’t quite fly yet. This is very much a good thing-Cobblepot adores three things in life-power, his mother, and his aviary. He’s the type of man to risk being run over by a hansom to rescue a downed pigeon. She’s seen it happen.

They stare at each other. She thinks that Dick’s either a good teacher or Tim’s a natural-she can just _hear_ Cobblepot’s heart beginning to bleed a little teeny tiny bit.

“Six percent.”

“Eight.”

“Done.” He leans back in his chair. “All right then, lads. Tell me everything you know about Messers Grange and Williams.”

It’s mostly just things that were already suspected-they’ve been writing off a little of the merchandise each time, claiming water damage or loss or what-have-you, and it’s been…plausible, but. Cobblepot didn’t make it to where he is today without triple-checking everything.

And unfortunately for those two, he’s now got eyewitnesses confirming that yes, those guns were not damaged by Gotham’s damp air or lost to lucky thieves, they were loaded into a hansom cab and driven off to Grange’s townhouse.

Pity. They were good at getting things here quickly.

Money is handed over and vanished into Dick’s shoes and Cobblepot waves a hand at them.

“Run along, boys. I’m sure Miss Marquis will feed you before you go.”

“Thank you, Misther Cobblepot.”

That sneaky little-she knows that trick, that careful add of a lisp for maximum pity points. Jason may like to insist he’s the bad influence, but if any of them were going to wheedle the Queen out of her palace, it’d be little Dickie Grayson.

And now, apparently, Tim.

“Go on, boys, I’ll be right behind you.”

They leave and Cobblepot blinks a few times, checks over his desk.

“What just happened?”

“I have no idea, sir. I’ll bring you a nice drink in a minute.”

He nods, still looking a little confused.

“Do that. And remind them that I have that silver counted!”

* * *

“So we’re gonna call ‘im Tiny Tim.” Jason informs her around a cracker. “Get ‘im a crutch, maybe. Then if shit goes south again he’s at least got somethin’ to hit back with.”

“You _knew_ she’d catch me-”

“I did not, I thought I raised you better-”

“You showed me _one_ _time_ , in a crowded street, and then shoved me at her!”

“You’d better hope I don’t die, there’s only so many saps in Gotham.”

Dick thunks his head against the table. Dove sighs and tugs Jason a few inches away from Tim.

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I am the backbone of this household.” he declares. The other two snort and he tips his head back to look at her. “No appreciation. Look at these ingrates.”

“You’re fine.” She taps his plate. “Eat that, I swear you’ve gotten thinner since last month-”

There’s a rap on the doorframe and she’s not going to deny it, she jumps a foot in the air. Or she would, if her skirts weren’t so blasted heavy. Seven pounds of undergarments, her foot…somebody needs to get off their arse and come up with something lighter. You can barely get out of the way of a runaway horse, even now!

“Commissioner.” She forces a smile. “I didn’t know you were here. What can I do for you?”

Gordon smiles and jerks his head towards the boys, who have clustered together a little more. The older two have closed ranks between Gordon and Tim, which is darling and pointless-Gordon’s a big softie, always has been. How he survived the War is a mystery.

“Who are these?”

“They do some errands for me sometimes-you know, run a letter, fetch the groceries.” She reaches over to tousle Jason’s hair and for once he doesn’t even pretend to swat at her hand. “Mister Cobblepot is in his study, I presume that’s why you’re here.”

“You presume correctly.”

“I’ll go tell him you’re here. You boys are fine, eat up.”

Cobblepot is scribbling something in his notebook. Even from here she can see that whatever it is, it’s scathing-he has a unique talent of imbuing his writing with tangible emotion.

“Commissioner Gordon is here to see you.”

“Hm-oh. That’s right, he said he’d be by.” And just like that, the notebook of scathing words is snapped shut and disappeared into the false bottom of his desk drawer. “Send him in.”

She finds Gordon trying and failing miserably to get conversation out of the boys, and she’s not sure who she’s rescuing when she sends him on his way. It doesn’t matter-the study door’s barely closed when they return to their original positions. She supposes she can’t blame them for being suspicious of the cops, really.

“You boys be safe.” she tells them later, on the doorstep, and they don’t even try to hide their scoffs. “You understand? Don’t go taking unnecessary risks, and look both ways before crossing the damn street.”

Right on cue, there’s an altercation down the street involving, what sounds like, a drunk stumbling into the path of a dog cart. Dick pulls Tim away from the curb and Jason says, “Nah, Dickie, let ‘im get run over, it’ll give ‘im another tool.”

“Jason!”

It’s times like this that she’s grateful to have grown up without siblings.

“Boys, _please_.”

Tim looks up at her with those big eyes and she regrets getting involved.

“Sorry.”

“Go on. And Jason, I swear, if I find you’ve let him get run over-”

“I’m hurt.” he grumbles, but he hugs her anyway before running off down the street, vanishing into the throng near the drunk. Dick grimaces.

“I’d better go make sure he doesn’t get himself stabbed…’bye, Miss M!”

And he’s gone, too, dragging Tim along with him like some sort of oversized doll. She shakes her head and steps back inside for a _strong_ cup of tea.

THE END

 

*Lies. He fell in because the other two knocked him in by accident running from the cops. He’s fine.


End file.
